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COMFORT FOR HOURS 
OF SORROW 



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Even here, 
From His dear children's eyes, God wipes the tear; 
And who would mourn, a tear should fill his eye 

For God to dry ! 
Angels might envy man his tearful eyes 

When God's hand dries. 

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NEW YORK 
E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY 

713 Broadway 



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Copyright, 

E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY. 
1876. 



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RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE : 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 

H. b. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 



I 

to 



NOTE. 

The Poems in this book are by Miss A, E. 
Hamilton^ a gifted young Irish lady who has 
lately died. 

" The First Bereavement " is by the Rev. J. 
R. Macduff, D. D., well known as the Author 
of " The Faithful Promiser," " Words and Mind 
of Jesus," etc., etc. 

" The Gate of Paradise " is anonymous, but 
has been received with much favor both in Eng- 
land and in this country. The compiler trusts 
that the whole may be acceptable and soothing 
to many afflicted ones, when the sacredness of 
sorrow forbids other communion. 




THE CHRISTIAN MOURNER. 



I. 



I THANK Thee for this heavy loss ; 
I thank Thee for this bitter cross; 
Because it hath seemed good to Thee, 
To send this cross and loss to me. 



2. 



I know it was no random blow 
Which laid thee, my own darling, low; 
Not death, but Christ, who said to thee 
" Come hither, oh ! my friend, to me." 



THE CHRISTIAN MOURNER. 

y 

3- 
Death hides, but he cannot divide ; 
Thou art but on Christ's other side ; 
Thou art with Christ, and Christ with me, 
In Christ united still are we. 



I know that Christ will never chide 
My sorrow, He hath wept and sighed ; 
I feel the pressure of His hand, 
I know that He doth understand. 

S- 
And oh ! what blessedness, relief. 
To tell the Christ of God my grief; 
Dear Man of Sorrows, Thou art still 
The refuge for all human ill. 

6. 

And Thou wilt still be more to me. 
For that dear one who is with Thee ; 
Thus Thou wilt fill the vacant place 
In Thy deep tenderness and grace. 



DEATH AND THE JEWELS. y 



DEATH AND THE JEWELS. 

I. 

" I AM no thief," quoth Death, ^* I only bor- 
row 
The treasures that I take from thee to- 
day ; 
Christ will restore thee fourfold on the mor- 
row j 
For when He comes again. He will re- 
pay." 

I looked at Death, my heart beat loud and 
faster : 
" In loan for Christ these treasures I re- 
ceive ; 
I am the faithful servant of thy Master; 
Doubt not," he said, '^ but earnestly be- 
lieve." - 



8 DEATH AND THE JEWELS, 



" Knowest thou," I cried, "that these are all 
my pleasures, 

Which thou art bearing to the far-off land ? " 
As I reluctantly beheld my treasures 

Shining like pearls in his dim orient hand. 



"Fear not," he said, as from my sight he 
slowly 

Vanished, the sunlight on his raven wings. 
Making them shine, half awful and half holy ; 

" These are the jewels of the King of kings." 

5- 
"These are His jewels, and to Him I bear 
them, 
To deck His robes of immortality ; 
These are thy treasures, and the Christ will 
wear them, 
That where thy treasures are thy heart may 
be." 



THE UNSEEN, 



THE UNSEEN. 

I. 

We walk beneath the shelter of God's wings, 
While by our pathway Hope, His angel, sings 
Of the unseen and everlasting things. 

She sings to us of Heaven, the great Home- 
land, 
And our eternal house, "not made with hand,'' 
Preparing for us there by Christ's command. 

3- 

That not as strangers shall we reach its shore. 
Friendless, an unknown region to explore ; 
Our Elder Brother hath gone on before. 

4- 

And of the wondrous Resurrection hour, 
When from the dust of earth each buried flower 
Shall come forth, clothed with glory, honor, 
power. 



lO AFFLICTIONS. 



AFFLICTIONS. 

As a ploughed field, 
Left desolate and bare 
To winter storms and chilly, frosty air, 
Yet only thus made dreary for a while, 
That richer there the harvest grain may smile ; 
So is the heart whose sod, 
Tender and green. 
Hath been 
Upturned by God, 
Its sprouting blades laid low; 
Yet only broken thus by grief's ploughshare. 

That in its furrows He might sow 
The seed of righteousness which shall increase 
Until it yield the harvest of eternal peace. 



BEREA VEMENT. 1 1 

BEREAVEMENT. 

I. 

When we behold 
God walking through our household fold, 
And choosing there one of His own dear 

sheep, 
Whom we would keep, 
How can our eyes forbear to weep ? 

2. 

Where God doth ask, 
Is it to give so hard a task? 
That with so much ado and weeping, 
We yield to His eternal keeping ? 
Where He hath sown, can we forbid the 
reaping ? 

3. 

Take, then, the best. 
Fold them as Iambs within Thy breast. 
And with Thy Holy Spirit's dew. 
So, blessed Lord, our hearts renew, . 
That we some day be folded by Thee too. 



12 SORROW, 



SORROW. 

Should Sorrow lay her hand upon thy shoul- 
der, 
And walk with thee in silence on life's way, 
While Joy, thy bright companion once, grown 
colder. 
Becomes to thee more distant day by day ? 
Shrink not from the companionship of Sor- 
row, 
She is the messenger of God to thee ; 
And thou wilt thank Him in His great to- 
morrow — 
For what thou knowest not now, thou then 
shalt see : 
She is God's angel, clad in weeds of night. 
With "whom we walk by faith and not by 
sight." 



THANKFULNESS, 13 

THANKFULNESS. 

I. 

And when life seemed a blank, 
And all thy heart within thee sank, 
* Couldst thou thy God still thank ? 

2. 

Even as Christ above the wine and bread, 
Emblems to Him of agony and dread, 
Thanked God His blood for sinners should 
be shed. 

3- 

Then bless thy God in all such pain and 

loss, 
For teaching thee the lessons of the Cross ; 
The hardest stone He covers with His moss. 



14 



DEATH DESPOILED. 



DEATH DESPOILED. 

EZEKIBL XXxIv. XZ, 12. 

I HAD a vision of Death passing by 

Crowned : 
His victims scattered round did lie, 
I shuddering fell upon the ground. 
When, lo ! a shout of victory, 
Aroused me from despair profound. 
I hastened to my door. 
And saw Death passing by. 
Once more. 
But bound 
And captive led 
By One arisen from the dead. 



THE RESURRECTION. 



IS 



THE RESURRECTION. 

Rev. i. i8. 

And dost thou marvel that He should arise 

Who opened death-closed eyes ? 

Wouldst thou not rather marvel if the tomb 

Could him retain 
In its dark gloom, 

Who did for others loose its pain ? 
He did therein consent three days to lie 
To comfort us who die, 
That for His sake 
We, too, might also slumber and awake. 



l6 THE FORM OF THF; FOURTH, ETC, 

*^THE FORM OF THE FOURTH IS 
LIKE THE SON OF GOD." 

Daniel iii. 25. 

O Son of God ! Thy form is ever found 
Where'er the sufferings of Thy saints abound : 
In fiery furnace or on midnight sea 
They walk with Thee j 
And in the charm 
Of thy supporting arm 
Forget the winds and waves or fiery flames 
around. 




THE 



FIRST BEREAVEMENT: 



OR 



WORDS ADDRESSED TO A MOURNER ON 

THE OCCASION OF A FIRST TRIAL. , 



This is a solemn hour on which 
yon have entered. The shadows 
of death for the first time are fall- 
ing around your dwelling. Often 
before have you heard of trial. 
You may have visited over and 
over again the house of affliction. 
You may even have dealt out les- 
sons of comfort to others. The 
doors of neighbours and friends 



18 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT, 

you have seen darkened with be- 
reavement^ but the King of Ter- 
rors has till now passed you by. 
Your turn has at last come ! — 
The spoiler has broken into your 
fond circle. The gourd is with- 
ered, the ^^ beautiful rod" has been 
broken. Your heart is smitten like 
grass. For the first time yours is 
a house of death, — yours the bit- 
terness of a First Bereavement.^ 

By the help of Him who is the 
healer of the broken-hearted I 
would desire to pour some drops 
of consolation into your wound- 

=^ " Ah, what lessons our dear Lord is now 
teaching you, lessons which angels can never 
learn ; —^teaching by heart what was only known 
before by rote !'' — Lady Powerscourfs Letters. 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 19 

ed bosom. This little book is in- 
tended to be seen by no eyes but 
weeping ones. It addresses no 
hearts but broken ones. It is to 
speak of sorrows with which a 
stranger cannot intermeddle. The 
world at such a time is often un- 
willing to make allowances for the 
sacredness of grief He who wept 
at the grave of Bethany puts no 
such unkind arrest on the out- 
flowings of sorrow. He ^^wept 
with those that wept." He has 
told us to ^-go and do likewise." 

I know not what this your first 
lesson in the school of Bereave- 
ment is. It may be ^^the desire 
of your eyes taken away by a 



20 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

stroke." It may be a beloved 
wife or husband^ the sharer of 
your every joy and sorrow^ sud- 
denly and mysteriously removed, 
and you are left to shed the tears 
of disconsolate widowhood. It 
may be some fond parent, whose 
smile gladdens and hallows every 
memory of the past, and now you 
find yourself treading orphaned 
and alone the remainder of the 
pilgrimage. It may be some dar- 
ling child, who has imperceptibly 
been entwining its every heart- 
string around you, wrenched from 
your embrace — a little light ex- 
tinguished in your dwelling — the 
favourite star of the firmament 
quenched in the darkness of death; 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 21 

one of those whose names are 
touchingly described as " always 
on grave-stones ; and their sweet 
smiles, their heavenly eyes, their 
singular words and ways, among 
the buried treasure of yearning 
hearts. In how many families do 
you hear the legend, that all the 
goodness and graces of the living 
are nothing to the peculiar charms 
of one who is not ! " 

Added to all this, the trial may 
have come with appalling sudden- 
ness. The hurricane may have 
swept your loved one down in 
the midst of brightest sunshine. 
Yesterday all was joyous and hap- 
py; to-day you are hurled by one 



22 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

terrible blow from the pinnacles 
of earthly bliss. Seated amid the 
wreck and ruin of all that on earth 
was held dear, — poor, lonely, des- 
olate, you can say, with the touch- 
ing emphasis of the broken-heart- 
ed Patriarch, "I am bereaved ! " 
The yoke, too, may have been 
early put upon your neck, or the 
summons may have come at the 
time when the joy of your heart 
could be least spared ; when most 
prized, most needed, most loved ! 
It may have been some cherished 
flower, rich with future promise, 
which has in a night drooped and 
withered and fallen; or some life 
of signal usefulness to the church 
or the world. Ten thousand with- 




THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 23 

ered sapless trunks in the forest 
left untouched by the axe ; the 
freshest and strongest and green- 
est marked out first to fall! 

What ! can it be ? Is it indeed 
a sober truth ? a sad reality ? Or 
may it not prove some wild dream, 
some feverish vision which the 
night will dispel ? Will not the 
morning chase away these terri- 
ble pictures of untold desolation ? 
Alas ! the morning comes, but with 
it the waking up only to a more 
vivid consciousness that all is too 
painfully real. These grey tints 
of early dawn are falling on a 
silent grave! ^^ Joseph is not and 
Simeon is not." With the droop- 



24 THE FIRST BEREAYEMENT. 

ing and blighting of that cherish- 
ed gourd, 

" There's not on earth the living thing 
To which the withered heart can cling." 

How strange and thriUing are 
the feelings with which you find 
yourself now amid the world's 
familiar din and bustle ! The 
unsympathizing crowd, all uncon- 
scious of what is transacting with- 
in your threshold, are hurrying 
by as before. They are exchang- 
ing with one another the same 
joyous smiles, they are clad in 
the same gay attire, the same 
merry chimes mark the passing 
hour, the same ^^ ringing laugh of 
childhood" is heard in the streets; 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 25 

and yet to you, all is sicklied over 
with inveterate sadness ; every 
. scene and association which whis- 
pers joy to others, reads but a 
homily of sorrow to your ach- 
ing heart. You now can well 
understand words in the vocab- 
ulary of sorrow which once seem- 
ed strange — " Wilderness worldy 
"Valley of tearsV How call this 
world, you were once led to ask, 
'^wilderness'' and "tearful^' which 
is sparkling on every side with 
tints of loveliness and vocal with 
joy ? Eight well do you know 
it now! Every flower has faded 
on your path. The silent cham- 
ber ! — it echoes to your lonely 
voice. The happy fireside circle! 



28 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

• — there is a vacant seat The 
favourite v^alk, — the cherished 
haunt ! — the smile that made it 
so is fled. Ah ! life has indeed 
become like the " flat, bare, oozy 
tide-mud, when the blue sparkling 
wave, with all its company of 
gliding boats and white-winged 
ships, the music of oars and chim- 
ing waters, has gone down." Mate- 
rial nature itself, the earth around 
you, the very firmament above 
you, seem to have shared in some 
terrible catastrophe, as if wan and 
coloured with ashes. You breathe 
a different air, you are lighted by 
a different sun ; in one terrible 
sense is the Scripture saying ex- 
pounded, '' old things have passed 



L 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 27 

away^ and all things have become 
new."^ 

Reader, I can imagine you now, 
solitary and alone in your cham- 
ber, your eye dim with weeping; 
your mind filled with ten thou- 
sand conflicting feelings to which 
you dare not give utterance; the 
holy visions of the past flitting 

'^ " As an iceberg comes grinding between 
two ships, sailing joyfully in company, so death 
rises up between these hearts, parting them 
for ever. The man awakes alone ! and lo ! 
the strength of his soul is departed ! Nature 
is silent. Por him the sun shines not; the 
beauty and grandeur of nature exist only as 
light to the blind and music to the deaf. The 
whole world of nature, art, poetry, music, 
painting, all are buried for him in that one 
grave. '^ — Shadows on the Hebrew Mountains. 
Mrs. Stowe. 



28 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

before you like shadows on the 
wall ; the future all darkness and 
mystery. — Your pining heart in 
the first gush of its bitterness 
turns away^ refusing to be com- 
forted ; the feelings of an old suf- 
ferer are too truthfully the tran- 
script of your own^ ^^Call me not 
Naomi, call me Mara, for the Al- 
mighty hath dealt very bitterly 
with me." (Ruth i. 20.) You 
may be even unable at first to get 
any comfort at the mercy-seat. 
You seek in vain to buffet the 
surges of grief; there is no light 
in the darkness, no break in the 
cloud, — '' deep is calling unto 
deep." 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 29 

Be comforted ! '' The Lord will 
command his loving-kindness in 
the day-time^ and in the night 
his song shall be v^ith me, and 
my prayer to the God of my life." 
Yes ! " thou afflicted, tossed 
with tempest and not comfort- 
ed/' unschooled and undisciplined 
in these fiery trials; — He who 
brought you into the furnace will 
lead you through ! He has never 
failed in the case of any of His 
^^poor afflicted ones" to realize 
His own precious promise, ^^As 
thy day is, so shall thy strength 
be." All is mystery and enigma 
to you now^ — nothing but crossed 
plans, and blighted hopes, and a 
future of unutterable desolation. 



30 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

But He will yet vindicate His 
dealings. I believe even on earth 
He often leads us to see and learn 
"the need be;" and if not on earth, 
at least in glory, there will be a 
grand revelation of ineffable wis- 
dom and love in this very trial 
which is now bowing your head 
like a bulrush, and making your 
eyes a very fountain of tears.* 

^ " He is in all providences, be they never 
so bitter, never so afflicting, never so smart- 
ing, never so destructive to our earthly com- 
forts. Christ is in them all ; His love, His 
wisdom, His mercy. His pity, and compas- 
sion is in them all, every cup is of His pre- 
paring; it is Jesus, your best friend, (0 ye 
poor, poor believers,) who most dearly loves 
you, that appoints all providences, orders them 
all, overrules, moderates, and sanctifies them 
all, and will sweeten them all, and in His due 
time will make them profitable unto you, that 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 31 

But though I have dwelt on 
the depth of your bereavement, 
I do not write to make more 
tears to flow. My design is rath- 
er to dry them ; — to mitigate 
these aching pangs, and lead you 
submissively to say, "Thy will be 
done." It is not a time when the 
mind is able or disposed to fol- 
low pages of continuous thought. 
Let me only throw out one or 
two simple reflections for your 
meditation, which I pray the Ho- 

you shall one day have cause to praise and 
bless His name for them all. Oh that we 
could but believe all this, and could by faith 
look unto our Jesus in all dark providences, 
and by faith behold this Jesus managing of 
them, and believe His love, wisdom, tender- 
ness, and faithfulness in all/' — Banyan's Heart's 
Ease, 



32 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

ly Ghost the Comforter to bring 
home to you. ^^May the Father 
of mercies and God of all comfort, 
who comforteth us in all our trib- 
ulations/' make us able to "com- 
fort them which are in any trou- 
ble, by the comfort wherewith 
we ourselves are comforted of 
God." (2 Cor. i. 3, 4.) 

A First Trial ! — Was it not 
needed? Has not the world been 
becoming too much for you ; — 
engrossing your affections, alien- 
ating your love, dimming your 
view of '' the better country " ? 
Ah ! commune with your own 
heart, and say, was not this (ter- 
rible though it be) the very disd- 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 33 

pline required? Less would not 
have done^ to wean me from the 
poor nothings of earth. I w^as 
lulled in a guilty self-security. 
I was living in a state of awful 
forgetfulness of my God^ — insen- 
sible of His mercies^ — unmind- 
ful of His goodness, — taking my 
blessings as matters of course, 
— a seci^et atJieism! And, more 
than this, of the awful magni- 
tude of ^Hhings not seen" I had 
no vivid consciousness. I felt 
as if surely death could never 
disturb my dream of happiness. 
He had been going his rounds on 
every side, but I never could real- 
ize the time when the terrible in- 
vader could rush upon my loved 



34 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

circle and make sucli a gap as 
this ! 

Dear Eeader ! if such be aught 
of a truthful picture, I ask you, 
was it not kindness^ unspeakable 
kindness in thy covenant God to 
break (though with a voice of 
thunder) this perilous dream ? — 
to bring back " by terrible things 
in righteousness" thy truant, wan- 
dering, treacherous heart, and fix 
once more thy traitor affections 
on Himself as their only satisfy- 
ing portion? ^^Your Heavenly 
Father never thought this world's 
painted glory a gift worthy of 
you, and therefore He hath taken 
out the best thing it had in your 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 35 

sight that He might Himself fill 
the heart He had wounded with 
Himself."^ 

The threads of life were weav- 
ed into too bright a tissue^ God 
had to snap them ! — The loved 
one thou art now mourning was 
a clay idol^ He had to break it in 
pieces. He had to drag it from 
the usurped throne that He might 
resume that throne Himself He 
gave thee prosperity — but thou 
couldst not or woiildst not use it 
for His glory. It was a curse to 
thea! It was that awful thing, 
" unsanctified prosperity." Thou 
wert living on the borders of 

^ Evans, 



36 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

that terrible state — " because 
they have no changes, therefore 
they fear not God." He would 
not suffer thee to be left alone, 
to settle in the downy nest of 
self-ease and forge tfuln ess. He 
has roused thee on the wing, and 
pointed thy upward soarings to 
their only true resting-place, in 
His own everlasting presence, 
and friendship, and love. ^^Ah! 
it is indeed humiliating," says the 
same holy man whose words we 
have last quoted, " that we re- 
quire so many stripes to force us, 
as it were, to God, when there is 
enough in Him to draw us to 
Himself, and to keep us with Him- 
self for ever ! " But better surely 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 37 

all these stripes than to be left 
unchecked in our career of for- 
getfulness. It has been well said, 
^^the sorest word God ever spoke 
to Israel was, 'Why should ye be 
stricken any more ? ' " This way- 
ward heart was throwing out its 
fibres on every side and root- 
ing them down to earth. He 
had to unroot them! — to wrench 
these grovelling affections from 
the things that are of '' earth, 
earthy," and fasten them on Him- 
self as their all in all ! ^ 

* " How great a mercy," writes Richard 
Baxter to a tried friend, " was it to live 
thirty-eight years under God's wholesome dis- 
cipline ! O my God ! I thank Thee for the 
like discipline of fifty-eight years ! How safe 
is this in comparison of full prosperity and 
pleasure ! " 






38 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

A First Trial ! Was there not 
graciousness in it ? At first sight 
this may appear a strange ad- 
mission to demand. There may 
seem no star in that black sky, 
no alleviating drop in the bitter, 
bitter cup. But see that you 
give not way to guilty murmur- 
ings, lest a worse thing come 
upon you; — lest God may show 
you ^^ greater things than these!" 
Pause and ask, have there been 
in your affliction no mitigating 
circumstances, no gracious con- 
solations, ^^ no tempering of the 
wind to the shorn lamb," no ^^ stay- 
ing of His rough wind in the day 
of His east wind " ? " Have you 
ever marked," says a writer who 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 89 

knew well herself what the fur- 
nace waS; — :"have you ever mark- 
ed His gentleness when bringing 
a painful message ? how He usual- 
ly calls by name, ^Abraham, Abra- 
ham ! ' ' Moses, Moses ' ? " ^ 

Yes! I verily believe that there 
^re few afflicted children of God 
but can echo the expression of 
the tried Psalmist, "I will sing of 
mercy and of judgment." (Mercy 
first, then judgment!) I ask you 
in this hour to think of your mer- 
cies^ and let each of them be a 
voice of comfort to you. What 
are they ? Have there been kind 
friends sent to share the bitterness 

=* Lady PowerscourCs Letters, 



t 

i 



40 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

of your sorrow and give you the 
tribute of their valued sympathy? 
Ask those who, from peculiar cir- 
cumstances, may have been de- 
nied this boon; — who in their 
hour of trial have been left un- 
befriended to weep in silence and 
in solitude their first tears — ask 
them^ Is there no mercy in this ? 
Again, your chief blessing may 
have been snatched away from 
you, but many precious ties yet 
remain ; and you will find, as 
one most blessed and endearing 
element in the loss you have 
sustained, that it knits together 
the broken links in holier and 
more sacred bonds than before. 
Ask those who have carried their 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 41 

all to the grave — who have been 
left like a solitary tree of the 
forest alone ! — all around them 
swept down! — ask them^ if it be 
no blessing to have the cherish- 
ed voice of doubly-endeared sur- 
vivors to mingle together com- 
mon tears, and recount the hal- 
lowed memories of the departed? 
Or, better than all, Is the loss 
you mourn the eternal gain of 
the absent one? Oh! ask those 
who have to muse in dumb agony 
over the thought of those gone 
unprepared to meet their God, 
ask them^ Is it no small mercy, 
(nay, rather is it not the high- 
est and most exalted of aU con- 
solations, — that which disarms 



■f. 



-Uf 



*♦ ■ 



-. .1 



42 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 



death and bereavement of all its 
bitterness^ — ) that -^the loved and 
lost" are the crovrned and glori- 
fied ? ^^ We may not here below/' 
says St. Cyprian, ^^put on dark 
robes of mourning, when they 
above have put on the white 
robes of glory." Does not this 
hush all murmurs and dry all 
tears, that the great end of their 
being has been faithfully fulfilled? 
^^The birds are fled away, having 
outgrown our care, to fill a bough 
on the tree of life, and charm us 
on to follow after them." 

" She is not dead, the child of our affection, 
But gone into that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor protec-? 
tion, 
But Christ Himself doth rule. 



\ 






THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 43 

In that great cloister's stillness and seclu- 
sion, 
By guardian angels led, 
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollu- 
tion, 
She lives whom we call dead," * 

=^ " I have had six children, and I bless 
God for his free grace that they are all with 
Christ, or in Christ, and my mind is now at 
rest concerning them. My desire was that 
they should have served Christ on earth, 
but if God will choose to have them rather 
serve Him in heaven, I have nothing to ob- 
ject to it; His will be done/' — Elliot. 

"Let me be thankful for the pleasing hope, 
that though God loves my child too well to 
permit it to return to me, He will ere long 
bring me to it, and then that endeared pater- 
nal affection which would have been a cord 
to tie me to earth, and have added new 
pangs to my removal from it, will be as a 
golden chain to draw me upwards, and add 
one further charm and joy even to Paradise 
itself. Was this my desolation, this my sor- 
row, to part with thee for a few days, that 



44 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

The First Trial! Is there not 
a specially loud Voice in it ? Yes ! 

I might receive thee for ever, (Philemon 15,) 
and find thee what thou art ? It is for no 
language but that of heaven to describe the 
sacred joy which such a meeting must occa- 
sion." — Philip Doddridge. 

We are told of Luther's daughter, " She 
expired, and as it were fell asleep, in the arms 
of her father. He repeated often, The will 
of God be done, my daughter has still, a 
Father in heaven." And when the people 
came to assist in bearing out the body, and, 
according to the common custom, told him that 
they shared his affliction, he said to them, " Be 
not troubled, I have sent a saint to heaven. 
Oh could we have such a death — such a death, 
I could accept it this hour.'' 

"All our dear relations that died in Christ 
are triumphantly singing hallelujahs in the 
highest heavens. While we are fighting, sigh- 
ing, and sobbing here below, they are with 
blessed Jesus above, according to His prayer 
for them, seeing His glory and participating 
in it." — John Banyan. 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 45 

I say so with a solemn convic- 
tion of its truth — You may have 
heavier trials and severer losses 
than this, but never will God's 
voice speak louder to you than 
now. It is the loudest hiocJc that 
can he heard at the door of your 
heart! Felix might have heard 
another (perhaps even a more 
powerful) sermon from Paul ^^on 
righteousness, temperance, and the 
judgment to come/' but I believe 
he would not have again trem- 
bled, as he did, when for the first 
time these appalling realities were 
presented to his mind. 

A first trials then, has its solemn 
responsibilities ! Let it not die 



46 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

away, like the subsiding thun- 
der, unsanctified and unimprov- 
ed. Let it be accompanied with 
the trembling response — ^^Lord, 
what wouldst thou have me to 
do ? " Seek to feel that God has 
thereby some great end in view 
— some wise meaning to subserve 
— some gracious lesson to teach. 
Inquire what it is. Depend upon 
it, your mind will never be in a 
more impressible state than 7iotv. 
Afflictions, like other voices, if 
unheeded, only harden and ren- 
der callous. Let the present be 
regarded as the most solemn mes- 
senger you ever can hear, pro- 
claiming, ^^ Prepare io meet thy 
Godr It may be now or never 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 47 

with you! Feel as if this bereave- 
ment were some gracious pre- 
cursor sent to give you the time- 
ly warning; ^'Be ye also ready!" 
The first " pin taken from your 
earthly tabernacle!" — Let it be as 
a monitory angel telling you to 
strike your tent and pitch it near- 
er heaven; — ^^ Arise and depart, 
for this is not your rest!" As 
we have seen the timid bird hop- 
ping from bough to bough till it 
reach the topmost branch, and 
then winging its flight to the 
sky J so with the soul — afflic- 
tion is designed to drive it from 
bough to bough, from refuge to 
refuge, higher and still higher, 



48 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

till at last it soars upward to the 
Heaven of its God * 

The First Trial. Is it not a he- 
fitting^ THE most befitting season to give 
yourself unreservedly to the service of 
God? Your hold is loosened from 
the vrorld. Like a vessel driven 
from its moorings^ you are drift- 
ing unpiloted on a tempestuous 
sea. Let these raging waters urge 
you to take shelter in the alone 
quiet haven. Oh! if at this sea- 
son you are without God! — a stran- 

^ " Your mansion above is filling, and your 
cottage on earth emptying, and wliat is the 
language of this dispensation ? Onwards, on- 
wards ! Upwards, upwards ! " — Helen Plum- 
tre. 



THE FIKST BEREAVEMENT. 49 

ger to the power of religion — un- 
cheered by its precious, gracious 
promises, I pity you, — from the 
bottom of my heart, I grieve for 
you ! In the wide world there 
is no sadder spectacle than the 
poor and unbefriended, the or- 
phaned, or widowed, or wither- 
ed heart, ungladdened by one 
holy beam of Bible consolation! 
The dark valley of the Shadow 
of Death traversed; and not one 
solitary ray falling from the Star 
of Bethlehem! Or equally mourn- 
ful if the heart be unhumbled — if 
it refuse to bear the rod — if the 
death chamber only reecho with 
guilty murmurings, and the chast- 
ened soul be unable to point to 



60 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

any ^^ peaceable fruit of righteous- 
ness/' as the result of the Divine 
dealings! There is a depth of 
meaning in what a son of conso- 
lation has said^ as he mingles ex- 
hortations with solaces — ^^unsanc- 
tified trials become deep afflic- 
tions." 

On the other hand, if you are 
no stranger to these exceeding 
great and precious promises, or 
if till now a stranger, you are 
ready to avail yourself of this 
one only solace in such an hour, 
what a hallowed experience yours 
is ! With all the unutterable, un- 
told depths of your sorrow, I know 
not (a happier I dare not call it) 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 51 

but a time fuller of more chasten- 
ed joy than the mourning Chris- 
tian's chamber, when the world 
is shut out, and he is alone with 
God ! The sun of his earthly 
prosperity set, and set it may be 
for ever ! but this only allowing 
the bright clustering constella- 
tions of Divine consolation to be- 
deck the dark firmament ; — the 
stars of Bible promise coming out 
one by one like ministering an- 
gels, and telling of bright scenes 
which ^^eye hath not seen, nor ear 
heard, nor heart conceived!" As 
in a time of rain and cloud the 
distant hills look nearer, so do 
the everlasting hills of glory ap- 
pear, in the cloudy and dark day 



52 THE FIRST BEREAYEMENT. 

nearer, brighter, more gloriouS; — 
sparkling with ten thousand rills 
of love and covenant-faithfulness 
unseen and unobserved before ! 
If thus cheered, yours is indeed 
an enviable lot. The man in the 
glitter of worldly prosperity is 
m)t to be envied. But t/oii are! 
You have got what the world with 
all its promises and blandishments 
cannot give, and which the world 
with all its deceitfulness cannot 
take away, — the Eternal God Him- 
$elfy who can fill all blanks, and 
compensate for all losses ; who 
can make that solitary chamber 
where you are now mourning 
and weeping, ^ Patmos^ bright as 
the lovely jEgean Isle was to 



THE FIEST BEREAVEMENT. 68 

Johii; with manifestations of a 
Saviour's presence and love.^ Re- 
member affliction has alwavs been 
God's peculiar method of dealing 
with His own people. It is be- 
cause He loves them He chastises 
them. "1 have chosen thee/' says 
He, ^^in the furnace of affliction^ 
^^What son is he whom the Fath- 

* " If death did come alone to us, it would 
be terrible to us indeed, its ghastly counte- 
nance would affright us. But here is the 
comfort, that Christ our dearest Lord will 
come with death to sweeten it to us, and 
support us under it. =* =* Though it be the 
king of terrors in itself, and a grim porter, 
yet by His coming with it, it shall be the 
king of comforts." — John Bunyan. 

"God's ichor fills the hearts that bleed, 
The best fruit loads the broken bough ; 
And in the wounds our sufferings plough 
Immortal love sows sovereign seed." 



64 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 






er chasteneth not?" As an old 
writer says^ "He instructs His 
scholars in the school of the Laio^ 
and in the school of the Gospel^ 
but He has a third class for ad- 
vanced learnerS; and that is the 
school of Trials A sublime dia- 
logue between a saint on earth 
and a saint in heaven, represents 
each member of the white-robed 
multitude as having graduated in 
this same school, — " What are 
these arrayed in white robes, and 
whence came they ? These are 
they that have come out of great 
inhiilaiionr * 



^ When Bishop Latimer's landlord informed 
him that he never knew ia trial, " God," was 
the reply, "cannot be here." 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 55 

Seek to exercise simple faith 
in the wisdom of God's dealings^ 
— the unswerving rectitude of 
His dispensations. He does all 
well^ and nothing but what ib 
well. Nothing can come wrong 
to you that comes from His hand. 
Confide where you cannot under- 
stand. Trust where you cannot 
trace. Repress all guilty murmur- 
ingS; check all rebelHous thoughts^ 
^^Get/' as a tried saint expresses 
it^ "your ^hows and whys' cruci- 
fiedj and resolve all into, and rest 
satisfied in^ infinite wisdom tem- 
pered with covenant love ; ^ ^ 
He may teach by contraries^ but 
no one teaches like Him." , Seek 
to magnify His name by the sweet 



56 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 



exercise of the grace of patience. 
This is a grace peculiar to the 
saints on earth. It is unknown 
in heaven, where there are no 
trials to call it into exercise. Glo- 
rify God ^^in the fires." There is 
something touchingly beautiful in 
the sentiment of Edward Bicker- 
steth at his dying hour. ^^This 
day, Saturday, 16th, he called 
one of us to him, and directed 
this message to his people for 
the next day, ' The prayers of 
this congregation are desired for 
the Eector of this Parish, not that 
his life may be spared, but that 
he may through his affliction glo- 
rify God, by fresh exercises of 
faith, patience, and resignation. 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 57 

and that when the Lord's work 
is accomplished he may depart 
hence and be with the Lord.'" 
Seek, afHicted one, to feel how 
light this heavy cross is, in com- 
parison with what your sins de- 
served. Ay, and what a drop in 
the ocean of suffering it is, in 
comparison with what the Prince 
of sufferers underwent, whose soli- 
tary experience was this, — ^^All 
thy waves and thy billows have 
gone over me!" He could make 
a challenge to a whole world of 
sufferers which to this hour re- 
mains unanswered, and ever will 
remain — Was there ever any sor- 
row like unto iviY sorrow ?^^ .Child 
of God ! if such indeed thou art. 



58 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT, 



believe it^ there is not one drop 
of wrath in the bitter cup thou 
art now drinking. He took all 
that was bitter out of it, and left 
it a cup of love ! 



As this your first trial is a new 
and never-to-be-forgotten epoch in 
your natural life, let it be em- 
phatically so in your spiritual. 
Hear a voice in it saying, ^^ Arise 
and call upon thy God." The 
once beaten footroad to the place 
of prayer may have been suffer- 
ed to be choked up, and covered 
with the rank weeds of worldli- 
ness and neglect. Let affliction 
prove as a sharp sickle, mowing 
them down, and once more open- 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 59 

ing a way to an unfrequented and 
deserted mercy-seat. Be it yours 
henceforth to rise ahove your trial, 
in the only way in which you 
would wish to rise above it: viz. 
to rise above the world and to 
live with God! Let your walk 
be close and habitual with Him. 
Let your citizenship be in heaven. 
A little while and the night of 
weeping will be over, and a gen- 
tle hand in a tearless world will 
dry up the very source of tears. 
Oh let this ^^ blessed hope" recon- 
cile you to the severest discipline 
of earth. Think often of heaven ; 
and that though there be night 
(ay, seasons of deepest starless 



60 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 



midnight) liere^ ^'^ there is no night 
— No bereavement there 



THERE. - 

either to be experienced or dread- 
ed ! Every day is bringing you 
nearer that home of joy ! nearer 
reunion with those glorii&ed^ one 
of whorU; it may be, you are now 
mourning ; nearer Him who is 
now standing with the hoarded 
treasures of Eternity in His hand, 
and the hoarded love of Eternity 
in His heart ! How will one brief 
moment there, banish in everlast- 
ing oblivion all the pangs and 
sorrows of the vale of weeping ! 
"When you have passed/' says a 
holy man of God who is now 
realizing the truth of his own 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 61 

words, '' when you have passed 
to the other side of that narrow 
river, to the which we shall so 
shortly come, you will have no 
doubt that all you have under- 
gone was little enough for the 
desired end." 

" Soon and for ever, 

Such promise our trust, 
Though ashes to ashes. 
And dust unto dust ; — 

Soon and for ever . 

Our union shall be 
Made perfect, our glorious 

Kedeemer, in Thee ! 

When the sins and the sorrows 

Of time shall be o'er. 
Its pangs and its partings 

Remembered no more, — 



62 THE FIEST BEREAVEMENT. 

Where life cannot fail, 

And where death cannot sever, 

Christians with Christ shall be 
Soon and for ever." 

Meanwhile^ return to life's du- 
ties with the spirit of ^^a weaned 
child/' exhibiting meek acquies- 
cence in the sovereign will of 
your God. Yes ! return to lifers 
duties! It is by no means the 
smallest part of your trial thus 
to go out to breathe the cheerless 
air of the world again^ and min-. 
gle with a saddened and crushed 
spirit amid scenes where all is 
uncongenial. But impossible as 
it may now seem, ^Hhe waves of. 
life/' to use the striking words of 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 63 

a writer already quoted, ^^must 
and will settle back to their usual 
flow where that treasured bark 
has gone down. For how impe- 
riously, how coolly, in disregard 
of all one's feeling, does the hard, 
cold, uninteresting course of daily 
realities move on ! Still must we 
eat and drink, and sleep and wake 
again — still bargain, buy, sell, ask 
and answer questions — pursue in 
short a thousand shadows, though 
all interest in them be over, the 
cold mechanical habit of living 
remaining, after all vital interest 
in it has fled.'' 

But ^^as thy day, so shall thy 
strength be." You know not un- 



64 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

til you make trial of it all the 
blessed fulness and truthfulness 
of this precious promise. ^^You 
are about/' says one deeply ex- 
perienced^ "to enter into realities 
of consolation you have never 
imagined to be in God." You 
have heard ten thousand broken 
hearts tell in no sembled words 
what their experience has been. 
"We have been wonderfully sup- 
ported." And what was the se- 
cret of it? Let a much -tried 
Apostle answer. — "J[// men for- 
sook me * ^ Notwithstanding^ the 
Lord stood by me and strength- 
ened me!" He proportions grace 
to trial. Your extremity is His 
opportunity. "We went through 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 65 

the flood on foot/' says the Psalm- 
ist ; " THERE did we rejoice in 
Him" Beautiful picture of ev- 
ery saint! or rather, glorious tes- 
timony to the sustaining grace 
of God; a firm footing amid the 
threatening waves ! — nay more, 
^^ there!" (when the billows were 
around us; in the very midst of 
our affliction) — '^ there did we re- 
joice in Him!" He will deal 
tenderly, wisely, lovingly, with 
you. God our Maker '^ giveth 
songs in the night. ^^ He does not 
^^pour down waterfloods on the 
mown grass." He considers His 
people's case. ^^ Whatever our 
need be, He is below it; under- 
neath are the everlasting arms ! " 



66 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

There is no Bible figure on which 
the Christian mourner dwells with 
such delight as that of ihe Refiner 
of diver ^ sitting by the furnace 
of His own lighting — tempering 
its heat — regulating the fury of 
the flames — quenching the vio- 
lence of the fires — designing all, 
ALL — not to consume and de- 
stroy, but to purify, brighten, re- 
fine ! 

I commend you to God and to 
the word of His grace. I com- 
mend you above all to the ten- 
derness of that human sympathy 
which exists alone in Jesus. An- 
gels and archangels, never hav- 
ing had sorrow, cannot sympathize. 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 67 

The glorious Being before whom 
they cast their crowns can! for 
sorrow tracked His footsteps^ from 
the manger to the grave.^ 

We never can understand the 
depth and preciousness of His sym- 
pathy until we come to need it. 
^^I have had a deep, a very deep 
wound/' says Lady Powerscourt, 
^Hhe trial has been very severe, 
but how should I have known 
Him as a brother born for ad- 
versity without it? * ^ ^ He 
has gone through every class in 

^ It is striking to note the cases of death 
and bereavement which during His ministry 
on earth called forth the exalted sympathies 
of His human nature, — an only son ! an only 
daughter ! an only brother ! 



68 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

our wilderness-school^ He seems 
intent to fill np every gap love 
has been forced to make. One 
of his errands from heaven was, 
to bind up the broken-hearted."^ 
Let your trial only endear Him 
to you more and more. Hear 
as it were the voice of the de- 
parted, stealing down from the 
heights of glory, and thus, as 
Boaz said to Euth, gently re- 
buking your fast-falling tears, — 
"It is true that I am thy near 
kinsman, howbeit there is a Kins- 
man nearer than I!" (Ruth iii. 
12.) Though earthly ties have 
been severing, He still *^^ lives 
and lores." " She was," said good 

^ Lady Powerscourt^s Letters. 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 69 

old Philip Henry, when writing of 
Lady Puleston, who died in 1658, 
^^She was the best friend I had 
on earth, but my Friend in heav- 
en is still where He was, and He 
will never leave me nor forsake 
me."^ 

^ "He Himself calls to you with His own 
tender, loving voice, ' I am He that was 
dead, and behold I am alive for evermore.' 
I live with thee, my poor afflicted one — I live 
for thee — I live i7i thee — I live with thee — 
never to leave thee by night or by day, in 
sickness or in health, in thy drooping morn- 
ings or in thy sad evenings, when the heart 
faints and the spirits sink, when faith is weak 
and nature is strong. — I live with thee, to 
fill the place of him who is gone, to do that 
which no creature can do, and more than 
fill it, much, much more ! — I live with thee, 
to comfort and to satisfy, yea to sanctify — I 
live with thee, my child, when every earthly 



70 THE FIRST BEREAYEMENT. 

/ 

Go forward to a dark future, 
fearlessly relying on His ^^exceed- 

prop sinks and dies. I live for thee in heav- 
en, to plead thy cause, to communicate grace 
from above, grace in every time of need ; the 
hour, the moment. I live in thee, to sustain 
thee as thy very life. Such is His sweet 
and tender voice, the tender, loving voice of 
His own loving heart.*' — Evans, 

"Whatsoever, whomsoever you have lost, 

I; 

you have not lost your Jesus, your best 
Friend, your heavenly Husband; you have His 
eye. His tender, watchful, provident eye upon 
you still, you have His ear open to your 
cries still; yea, you have His everlasting arms 
underneath you to sustain you still, for else 
you would sink. ^ * To have a friend in 
heaven, and such a friend, so wise, so power- 
ful, so faithful, so merciful, so sensibly affect- 
ed with all our misery, so tender, so able, and 
so willing to bear and help us ! — I say this 
is infinitely better than all the friends that 
ever we had or could have on earth." — Bun- 
yan Hearts Ease, 



THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 71 

ing great and precious promises." 
The future is not yours but His; 
He is a rich provider and a wise 
provider. Take as your wilder- 
ness-watchword, "/ dwill not wantr 
He will ^^ guide you (nay, He 
is guiding you) by ffis. counsel/' 
" and afterward " — " afterward ! " 
— it is not for you or me to 
scan that word ! It may be 
one of painful significance ; it 
may be after much discipline, it 
may be after a rough and rug- 
ged and thorny road; it may be 
after trial upon trial, and wave 
upon wave. But even on the 
darkest and dreariest view of 
the future, though this your tri- 



I «. 



72 THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 

al should prove but the com- 
mencement of a lengthened ^^ Val- 
ley of Baca " (weeping) — one 
continuous path of sadness, ■ — 
remember what follows that '^ af- 
terward " — "^ He will receive you 
into Glory I " Soon the last rip- 
ple of sorrow will be heard mur- 
muring on the other side of Jor- 
dan, and then — every vestige 
of its sound will die away, and 
that for ever I Entering the tri- 
umphal arch of Heaven, you 
will read in living characters the 
history of a sinless, sorrowless 
future : '^ And God shall wipe 
away all tears from their eyes, 
and there shall be no more 






THE FIRST BEREAVEMENT. 73 

death, neither sorrow, nor cry- 
ing, neither shall there be any 
more pain: for the former things 
are passed away.'^ Rev. xxi. 4. 




" ASK." 



God's "Ask" 
Meaneth all fulness and all grace, 
Access in every time and place ; 

Yet we 
To whom this mercy is so free, 

This privilege of light to bask 

In the full sunshine of His face, 

Regard prayer even as a task. 



jS ''SEEKING REST AND FINDING NONE:' 

" GREAT IS THY FAITH." 

Faith is a grasping of Almighty Power; 
The hand of man laid on the arm of God j 

The grand and blessed hour 
In which the things impossible to me 
Become the possible, O Lord, through Thee. 



" SEEKING REST AND FINDING 

NONE/' 



Upon life's troubled sea like waves we toss, 
As if there were no God, no Christ, no Cross. 
We turn towards the east, towards the west, 

Seeking for rest, 

Yet finding none. 
Light-seekers, shrinking only from the sun. 

So we 
Refuse the voice to hearken 

Of One crying, 



WEEP NOT, BELOVED. y^ 

In all the agony of love and dying, 

** Come unto Me," 
Until our very light within doth darken. 

It was of rest Christ spoke 
When bidding us take up and bear His yoke. 



WEEP NOT, BELOVED. 

** God hath given us eternal life, and this life is in His Son." 

Weep not, beloved ; 
If God hath called a dear one from thy side, 
He lays not on thee more than He hath felt. 

His Son hath died. 

He feels for thee 
When thou dost shed a sad, bereaved tear. 
Whose only Son for thy poor sake hath filled 

A human bier. 

And canst thou grudge 
To yield to Him thy best-beloved — He 
Who gave, in all the fulness of His love, 

His Son for thee ? 



yS LIFE AND DEATH. 

LIFE AND DEATH. 

" Your sorrow shall be turned into joy.'* 

Life and Death drew nigh : 
I cried with an exceeding bitter cry, 
" Stay thou, O Life ! O Death, pass thou me 
by ! " 
Life frowned upon me, but Death gave con- 
sent ; 
Yet, pausing ere upon his way he went. 
He said, " Thou canst not know what thou 

dost ask." 
And from his features he withdrew a mask. 
As sunhght shining on a darksome cloud. 
Forthwith I saw on his transfigured face 
The Shining hght of Christ's reflected grace. 

He then drew back 
The sombre foldings of his mantle black, 
When in his hands 
A Cross I saw : 
" The sceptre which I waved above all lands. 
Striking all hearts with awe, 



THE LIGHT OF LIFE. jg 

Christ took from me, and gave me this, 

Which I now reach for men to kiss. 

Fear not, I only mean thy bliss." 

No longer by his hated presence cowed, 

I felt that I had judged Death much amiss. 

Since not to him, but Christ, we bowed. 



THE LIGHT OF LIFE. 

** I have yet many things to say unto you, but ye cannot bear them 

now." 

As one who entereth by night a room 

Where sufferers lie, 
Shadeth his lamp to suit the languid eye, 

So doth the Christ draw nigh 

Unto our world of gloom. 
The light of life He beareth, and doth stand 
Shading it tenderly with pierced hand. 

Lest the full glare 
Should cause us not to see, but stare. 
Yet through the nail-prints some sweet rays 
divine 

Will gently shine : 
Dawn which doth for the day prepare. 



8o HE SHALL SA VE HIS PEOPLE, 



"HE SHALL SAVE HIS PEOPLE FROM 

THEIR SINS." 

I MET the Saviour in the evening hours, 

The sun was sinking in the quiet west ; 
His hands were filled with newly-gathered 

flowers, 
With which His Father's mansions should be 

dressed. 
I looked upon them with a strange surprise j 
He read the thought my looks alone expressed : 
*^ Master, are these indeed earth's very best — 
Buds, nipped and bitten rudely with the frost ; 
Blossoms, their petals tempest - torn and 

tossed ? 
And surely Thou hast gathered them with 

cost I " 
The Saviour spake with mercy in His eyes : 

" I came to save the lost." 
The Son of Man hath healing for His art. 
The withering buds men scornfully despise, 
God gathers up and freshens on His Heart. 




The Gate of Paradise. 



* La mort ne nous separera pas. Bien loin de la ; 
. . . J*espere on aime mieux au Ciel ou tout se divi- 
nise/ — Eugenie de Guerin, 




ASTER EVE was passing into 
the early dawn of Easter Day. 
For many days I had been a 
watcher by the sick-bed of a 
dear child; but on this night anxiety had 
given place to hope, and he had fallen into 
the deep, serene sleep that foretells return- 
ing health. 



82 



THE GATE OF PARADISE. 



S 



With a quiet and thankful heart I marked 
the hours pass, the stars fade in the pur- 
ple sky, and morning twilight steal over 
the distant line of gray sea. Even so, I 
thought, joy eternal *cometh in the morn- 
ing ; ' even so will the last glad Easter 
dawn, and end the night of all earthly 
watching. 

At length, however, weariness overcame 
me, and I fell asleep. 

And in my dreams I seemed to stand 
at the Gate of Paradise. Below me were 
dark clouds and a steep descent; but 
above me an almost unapproachable Glory. 
Grouped about the Gate I beheld the forms 
of many waiting spirits, over whom floated 
a white banner, that bore on its pure and 
shining folds a golden Cross surmounted* 
by a Crown. 

An angel stood in the entrance, and as 
I drew near he said, * Child of Earth, what 



THE GATE OF PARADISE, 83 

brings thee to the Land of Light ? Speak, 
and fear not/ 

* Truly/ I answered, * I know neither how 
nor why I came hither; but I am weak 
and weary, and if this be Paradise, I pray 
thee let me in, and cheer me by one sight 
of its eternal joy.' 

The angel smiled. 

* Thou art then one of the dreamers of 
earth,' he said, * to whom it is at times per- 
mitted that while the body sleeps, the soul 
should for a few brief moments visit the 
Home of the Blessed. Enter, beloved.' 

With these words, he beckoned to one of 
the fairest of those shining ones I had ob- 
served at the Gate, and gave me into her 
care, saying, * Gabrielle, take charge of this 
poor wanderer, and show her such things 
as she can understand.' 

Then Gabrielle took my hand and led 
me within the gates. ' 



84 



THE GATE OF PARADISE 



* Thou art surely weary,' she said : * thou 
shalt rest beneath the fountain of the water 
of life.' 

So we sat together beneath stately palms 
that drooped over a clear stream, which, 
ever flowing from the fountain, took its 
course by many windings to the sea. And 
I looked around me, and tried to take in 
something of the beauty that everywhere 
met my gaze. 

But even as then it far transcended 
what my utmost thought had conceived, 
so now words fail me when I would de- 
scribe that home of the saints. 

I can tell of a strange and heavenly 
light, ' like unto a stone most precious,' 
that lay in endless glades, and lit up the 
radiant forms of blessed ones, who, making 
the air melodious with song, moved to and 
fro amid groves and plants of unearthly 
beauty. 



THE GATE OF PARADISE. Z^ 

I can speak of the * everlasting hills/ 
whose outline lay in a golden mist in the 
far distance, to which Gabrielle pointed 
as the hills of the Celestial country where 
the King reigns in perpetual glory. And 
I can tell of a sea, which, like a belt of 
molten silver, lies between those shores 
and Paradise — a sea that knows no storms, 
and in whose clear deeps I learned can at 
times be seen, as in a mirror, something 
of the unknown glories of that New Jeru- 
salem for which the saints in P^adise wait 
in hope. But I cannot hope to paint in 
human words the energy of life, the sur- 
passing gladness, the perfection and pure 
delight, of this land of rest. 

On the margin of the stream by which 
we sat grew many lovely plants ; and as they 
swayed to and fro in the breeze, I thought 
I could hear amongst their blossoms soft 
whispers as of prayer. Turning to Gabri- 



S6 



THE GATE OF PARADISE, 



elle, I asked if it were so, or if my fancy 
misled me. 

* You are not mistaken/ she said : * these 
are the as yet unanswered prayers of some 
who are still on earth. Stoop, and thou 
shalt hear.* 

Then I bent over a fair lily, and in 
its pure chalice heard, as it were, a dis- 
tant echo of these words : ' Lord, he hath 
lost the faith and love of his childhood — 
he hath wandered from Thee and from 
me: bring him home at last!* *Alas,' I 
said, * surely this is the prayer of a mother 
for her son ! * 

Again I listened, and from the crimson 
bell of another flower I heard — ' Lord I 
that I might receive my sight.' And I 
said * Amen ; * for at that moment it seemed 
as though I could not bear that blind 
man*s cross. 

Once more I leant over those strange 



THE GA TE OF PARADISE, 2>7 

blossoms, and my ear caught these sounds, 
uttered with a clearer, intenser cry than 
either of the other petitions — * O God, if 
indeed Thou art anywhere in space, teach 
me where to find Thee ; teach me how to be- 
lieve on Thee ! * 

But even as I listened, the words 
died away, the floAver closed its petals, 
drooped, and then passed from my sight, 
leaving in its stead a radiant jewel, on 
which was graven some word I could 
not read. 

Then Gabrielle's countenance shone with 
a new glory. * Praised be our God,' she 
said, * who hath at length heard the voice 
that cried unto Him out of the darkness.' 
She then told me that this jewel would 
be treasured up for the crown of the sup- 
pliant at the Day of Resurrection; and at 
that moment an angel passed by, who gath- 
ered it, with other gems from aniongst the 



88 



THE GATE OF PARADISE, 



flowers, and bore it away in his golden 
basket. 

Then I asked of my guide if sooner or 
later all these prayers would receive an an- 
swer. 

*Not so/ she replied. *The prayer of 
faith is not always a prayer of knowledge 
— though, being the token of faith and 
love, it is most dear to the King. Yet be 
thou not discouraged. The continual in- 
tercession of the saints on earth ever re- 
ceiveth acceptance and answer, though it 
may be after long waiting. Pray therefore 
night and day for those thou lovest : thou 
wilt not pray in vain.' 

Then she took me aside where other 
flowers grew, whose blossoms were of such 
marvellous and dazzling whiteness that I 
could scarcely look upon them ; but it 
seemed to me that they were marked with 
blood. 



THE GATE OF PARADISE. 89 

* Touch them not,' she said ; * but kneel 
and listen, if perchance thou mayest hear 
the voice of these.' 

And I knelt upon the ground, and heard 
— *0 My Father, if it be possible, let this 
cup pass from Me : nevertheless, not as I 
will, but as Thou wilt.' 

Awed and wondering, I looked at Ga- 
brielle for an explanation ; but she only 
said gently, * For thy sake and for mine 
was this prayer unheard.' 

We wandered on until we came to a bed 
of strangely fantastic creepers. ' These,' 
said my guide, 'are the delight of the 
Prince when He comes among us : they are 
the unanswered prayers of little children. 
Strangely sweet they are, and full of faith; 
but often such as if granted would bring 
no true joy to the little ones.' 

* What then become of their flowers ? ' I 
asked; and she replied that thie Prince 



90 



THE GA TE OF PARADISE. 



loved them, and that He would often gath- 
er and place them in His bosom, for He 
had said there was no sound in Heaven 
or earth so sweet as the prayer of a little 
child. 

Here also I perceived many a gem half 
hidden by the quivering leaves until the 
Angel should pass that way with his gath- 
ered jewels. 

Just then a dove, whose soft plumage 
gleamed like burnished silver, alighted on 
Gabrielle's shoulder. * Sing me thy song, 
bright one,' she said as she took it on her 
hand» And the bird leaned his head 
caressingly against her cheek, and sang. 
And underneath the melody of his singing 
I seemed to hear the glad burden of th^ 
song of some rejoicing soul: * Weeping may 
endure for a night ; but joy cometh in the 
morning.' . * 

'And now thou seest,' continued Gabri- 



THE GATE OF PARADISE, 



91 



elle, 'that every living thing, every leaf 
and blossom in Paradise, hath a voice of 
praise or prayer ; and so strangely yet truly 
are we linked to the saints on earth, that 
the very sounds of their supplication or of 
their joy finds here an echo.' 

We now perceived four lovely maidens 
approaching us, who from their resemblance 
to one another I took to be sisters. They 
were evidently full of some new cause for 
gladness, and as they drew near we heard 
their joyous voices. * Gabrielle, beloved, 
be glad with us,' said one of them. *She 
is coming at last. Even now is the An- 
gel on his way to fetch her, and we go 
to the Gate to receive her. Think you 
she will know us again } * 

* Aye, truly, sweet one,* said Gabrielle. 
* Surely, through earth or Heaven a mother 
will know her own ! ' 

They passed on quickly to the Gate, 



92 



THE GATE OF PARADISE, 



and I saw them no more : but my heart 
rejoiced as I thought of the meeting again 
of those long parted ones. 

' Thou art, then, a mother ? ' I asked of 
my fair companion, whose earnest reply had 
struck me. 

*My husband and child are still upon 
earth,* she answered. * When the Master 
called me hither, I seemed to have much 
to leave ; and yet, I know not how it was, 
but when I heard His Voice my soul 
rose up hastily, like blessed Mary, and 
went out gladly to meet Him. And now, 
she continued, ^I find it was to add the 
love and joy of Paradise to the love and 
gladness of earth. We are still one, though 
parted; and the time is short.* 

*And hast thou seen them since that sad 
hour of parting } ' I asked. 

* Aye,* she replied ; * twice hath the Prince 
sent me to earth. Once it was to save 



THE GATE OF PARADISE. 93 

my little one from a horrible death. I 
found her playing on the brink of a hidden 
well ; and I took her back to those who, 
in sorrow and fear, were vainly seeking 
her/ 

* Did they see thee ? ' I asked. 

^ The child saw me ; and when she spoke 
of it, they went forth to seek me, and 
knew not that I stood beside them. So I 
returned again to await them here. And 
once again I visited earth. When in his 
loneliness my husband's prayer came up, 
saying, that since the Lord had set the 
cross of suffering on his path, henceforth 
life should be to him one continued ser- 
vice, and offering himself as one who 
would carry the name of Christ into per- 
ilous and heathen lands ; then, on the 
night on which he sailed, as he lay asleep 
in the ship, the Master sent me to bid 
him be of good cheer. I know not if 



94 



THE GATE OF PARADISE. 



in his dreams he saw me ; but when I 
spoke he smiled, and I heard him murmur 
"Gabrielle," and then— "Christ."' 

' And is this long ago ? ' I asked. 

'Nay, I cannot tell,' she said, smiling; 
*for the time is ever short in Paradise.' 

And now a very wondrous though dis- 
tant burst of melody filled the air, unlike 
any sound that I had heard ; but so joy- 
ous, so pervading, so perfect was the har- 
mony, that I earnestly asked from whence 
it came. 

*It is indeed a blessed sound,' said Ga- 
brielle. * It is borne on heavenly gales from 
the celestial country : in a moment it will 
be taken up, and echoed back by every 
dweller in Paradise, for to us also it is a 
sound of joy. It is the song of the An- 
gels in the Presence of God over some 
sinner that repenteth.' 

' Ah ! ' I thought, ' if it might but be the 




THE GATE OF PARADISE. 95 

son for whom that mother prayed, whose 
prayer breathed in the lily ! ' 

Divining my wish, Gabrielle turned, and 
we retraced our steps to the margin of 
the stream ; and there, where the fair lily 
had been, lay a glorious opal, casting 
back from its polished surface the many-* 
tinted lights of Paradise. Then we knew 
that the mother's prayer was heard. 

And now I asked my guide to speak to 
me concerning the Prince. 

* Does He come often among you .? ' 

*So often,' she replied, ^that we seem to 
be ever in His Presence. Even now look 
toward the sea, for I think I behold His 
beloved form crossing from the other side. 
Let us go forth to meet Him.' 

It was even so. The air rang with 
songs of welcome, and glittered with count- 
less radiant spirits, who formed in shining 
ranks to receive their Lord, as., walking 



96 



THE GATE OF PARADISE, 



royally on the unruffled surface of the 
waters, He passed over from the celestial 
shore. 

Then, as He approached, I trembled ex- 
ceedingly, and fell to the ground, that I 
might not look upon the Divine Majesty 
of His Presence. 

When I raised my eyes He was gone; 
but an angel stood beside us, and was 
speaking to my companion in these 
words : 

* Gabrielle, beloved, rejoice ! for I am 
sent to thee on a glad errand. This night 
must thy husband finish his course on 
earth. "Go thou," saith the Master, "stand 
by him in the last conflict, and bring him 
hither to eternal joy ! " ' 

On this Gabrielle bowed her head and 
worshipped. *So soon,' I heard her mur- 
mur — * so soon ! So brief a parting^ — so 
eternal a reunion ! V 



THE GATE OF PARADISE. 97 

* True,' replied the angel ; ' yet can I bear 
witness that to him the time has seemed 
long. Twenty of earth's years has he la- 
bored in the wilderness since thou wert 
taken from him — aye,' he added fervently, 
* labored and hath not fainted.' 

At these words Gabrielle raised her eyes, 
and by the look of glad surprise that filled 
them, I saw that to her it had seemed but 
as a summer's day since she too had been 
a worker on earth. 

* Let me go ! ' she said eagerly ; * but 
would that I might also look on the face 
of my child ! ' 

*Do even as thou wilt,' replied the An- 
gel ; * and the merciful guiding of the Most 
High be with thee ! ' 

With these words he passed on ; and 
Gabrielle, in the glow of her beauty and 
her joy, sprang toward the Gate. 

But I cried after her, * O Gabrielle ! take 



98 



THE GA TE OF PARADISE, 



me back to earth, for I am weak, and the 
glory of Paradise lies like a weight upon 
my spirit ! * ' 

With a compassionate smile she once 
more took my hand, and we passed out to- 
gether. And soon the light of that golden 
land glimmered like a distant star behind 
us, and we no longer heard the songs of 
the dwellers there. 

When we reached earthy I saw that we 
stood beneath the shadow of an old church. 
It was night ; but I could see how peace- 
ful a resting-place it was for the dead. 
Round many of the graves flowering plants 
were blossoming; and an avenue of limes 
veiled them tenderly with a network of soft 
shadows. We stood by a cross of marble, 
that gleamed like snow in the moonlight. 
It bore the simple inscription : 





■ 

4- 




(ButxitUt, 




Jmliv- 






%mn. 


. 




4843. 






-h 





And underneath, in gold letters, * The for- 
mer things are passed away/ 



J 00 THE GATE OF PARADISE, 

We passed quickly out of the church- 
yard, on to a sweep of soft turf shaded 
by stately trees, from under which groups 
of startled deer gazed wonderingly at us 
out of mild and liquid eyes, and reached 
a many-gabled mansion, that seemed to 
lie in solemn state in the moonlight. 

Another moment, and we were in a dark- 
ly wainscoted room, where a light burned 
on a marble bracket beneath the picture 
of a child. 

In the crimson shadow of velvet cur- 
tains, supported by richly-carved angels, 
slept Gabrielle^s father and mother. In 
their calm faces I seemed to read a tale 
of sorrow, of strife, and then of victory — 
something of what the years had brought to 
them since the day when they laid their 
only child to her early rest beneath the 
white cross. 

Truly I longed that they might awake, 






THE GATE OF PARADISE, loi 

if but for one moment, to behold their 
darling as she bent over them — the deep 
pure love of Heaven shining in that stead- 
fast gaze. But they lay in so majestic a re- 
pose, that I could almost fancy them the 
marble effigies on some ancient tomb. 

And now Gabrielle led the way to an 
inner room, where a fair girl lay asleep. 
So very fair was she, so like to the bright 
spirit at her side, a*s she lay with her gol- 
den hair about her pillow — ^ like a saint's 
glory up in Heaven' — that I needed not to 
ask if this were Gabrielle 's child. 

It was evident that she had fallen asleep 
with happy thoughts, for a smile was on 
her lip, and in her hand she held a let- 
ter, with which even in her slumbers she 
seemed unable to part. Her finger lay on 
these words : — * Beloved child, this is no 
place for thee; yet if they need thee not, 
and thou hast so resolved, I dare not keep 



102 



THE GATE OF PARADISE. 



thee from thy crown. The harvest truly 
is great, and the laborers are few. — Come.' 

* Nay, my treasure,' said Gabrielle, read- 
ing the words as she bent fondly over her 
child. * The Lord hath need of thee here, 
not in heathen lands; and the Lord hath 
need of thy father, but not upon earth. 
Farewell ! In comforting others shalt thou 
be comforted; in strengthening others shalt 
thou find strength ; in loving shalt thou be 
loved. Fare thee well ! ' 

In another moment we were again in the 
cool night air, passing swiftly southward. 
At times I heard far below us the mur- 
mur of the sea, or saw the glittering lights 
of strange cities, or caught the sound of 
some heathen revel, or the howl of some 
tmsatisfied beast of prey. 

At length we came to the borders of a 
dense forest. A humble spire rose from a 
group of neatly built huts and cultivated 



THE GATE OF PARADISE, 103 

gardens, which contrasted strangely with 
the wilderness around; and I saw that it 
was a Christian village in the midst of a 
heathen land. 

*This way,' said Gabrielle suddenly. 
* Surely I heard him call me ! ' And she 
led me into a low hut. 

On a rude shelf in the wall a lamp was 
burning with a dull flare ; and the light 
fell on the dusky faces and white dress of 
two native servants. One sat on the ground, 
rocking himself to and fro in a despair that 
was sorrowful to behold; while the other 
strove vainly to stanch a terrible spear- 
wound in his master's side, from which the 
life-blood was slowly oozing. 

On a rough pallet beneath the lamp lay 
Anselm, Gabrielle's husband. His eyes 
were closed, and he appeared unconscious. 
Then Gabrielle knelt beside him, and I 
saw her throw her arms about him, and 



lapi 



104 



THE GATE OF PARADISE, 



call him by every tender name; but he 
only groaned heavily. 

And now, for the first time, I saw stand- 
ing on the other side an angel whose pres- 
ence made me tremble, so terrible a light 
was in his eye, so hard and unsparing 
the curve of lip and brow. With a low 
voice, that yet seemed to ring through the 
hut and arouse the dying man, he spoke : 
*To what end hast thou labored these 
twenty years? Hath God indeed acknowl- 
edged thy work ? Hath He not crossed thy 
life with anguish, read thy prayers back- 
ward, forsaken thee, and left thee to die 
like a dog by the hand of a miserable hea- 
then ? Curse Him, for thou canst but die ! ' 

Then the dying priest groaned again ; and 
I thought I heard him murmur, ^Forsake 
me not when my strength faileth/ 

In vain Gabrielle tried to interpose* be- 
tween her beloved and the angel of dark- 



THE GATE OE PARADISE, 105 

ness. The soft tones of her spirit voice 
seemed to awake no response in the ear 
of the dying man ; and the evil one, with 
a mocking laugh, continued his derisive 
words. Then I saw the shadow of a hu- 
man agony pass into her glorious eyes : 
yet only for a moment, for, looking up to 
Heaven, I heard her breathe the words, 
' My Saviour ! I am but a weak spirit, but 
Thou art God ! ' And in an instant a soft 
light filled the room, and He on Whom 
she called stood by His fainting servant. 
I saw Him lay a Hand, marked even then 
with the print of the nail, on Anselm's 
brow, where the damps of death were fast 
gathering; and I saw that the dying man 
had returned to consciousness, for he mur- 
mured, * Thanks be to God, Who giveth 
us the victory through our Lord Jesus 
Christ ; ' and then the light faded, and I 
saw the Divine Master no more.- 



io6 



THE GATE OF PARADISE. 



But I knew that the end was come; for 

Gabrielle stood beside her husband, and he 
knew her, and was stretching out his 

arms toward her, and the joy of Paradise 

was in both their faces. 

And now the wretched lamp flickered 
for the last time, and went out. In the 
darkness I heard a long-drawn sigh ; and 
when I looked again, the moonlight was 
streaming in at the open door on the white 
features of the dead. 

For a moment Anselm and Gabrielle 
stood together by the pale corpse, and 
then, for the first time, I marked how 
strangely alike they were. In the solemn 
hush of that moment, the newly-disem- 
bodied soul seemed to pause, as one on 
the threshold of a mighty destiny. The 
countenance told of Faith, that was even 
then almost sight, of strength blended with 
profoundest humility, and by the visible 



THE GATE OF PARADISE. 107 

expression of these I recognized Anselm ; 
while by the matchless tenderness, the radi- 
ant joy that illuminated the other — ^joy as 
of one in full and conscious possession of 
supreme and perpetual bliss — I could not 
fail to distinguish Gabrielle. Was it that 
by diverse methods perfection had been 
wrought in each? — that what joy had ac- 
complished in one had been effected by 
stern griefs in the other ? — or that both 
spirits had been cast in one mould by 
the Great Master of Life? 

I know not : but while I thought on these 
mysteries of life and death, a wail of sor- 
row rose from the faithful servants as Ga- 
brielle and Anselm passed out into the 
night; and the last I heard of them was 
the exulting voice of Gabrielle beneath the 
stars, singing * Home ! home ! * 



io8 



THE GATE OF PARADISE, 



And I? — I awoke from my dream to find 
a small wasted hand placed in mine, and a 
weak voice singing in low tones of quiet 
content, the last verse of the hymn with 
which we had lately beguiled the weary 
night : 

* O Paradise ! O Paradise I 
I know Hwill not be long ! 
Patience — I almost think I hear 
Faint fragment of thy song. 
Where loyal hearts and true 
Stand ever in the light ; 
All rapture through and through 
In God's most Holy sight ! ' 

It may be that the child's voice had 
blended with my dreams; that his hand, 
not Gabrielle's, had led me through strange 
paths, and that the glorious Easter sun- 
shine that filled the room had suggested 
the light of Paradise. 

It may be so : but still it seems to me 



THE GATE OF PARADISE, 



109 



that when this life is over, and my weary 
soul, borne by some blessed angel, is car- 
ried within the golden gates, I may yet see 
Gabrielle and Anselm standing together 
beneath the drooping palms. 




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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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